Richard, sweating profusely, looked at Preston's diamond Rolex, remembered the memo the airline had sent out about keeping high-value corporate partners happy, and made a calculated, cowardly choice.
"Captain," Richard murmured softly, leaning in. "Mr. Montgomery is a top-tier corporate account. The other gentleman... well, he's just a standard revenue ticket. Mr. Montgomery said he felt threatened. We can't have a security issue in the air."
Captain Mitchell frowned. He looked at his watch. They were already risking their takeoff slot. He made the easiest, fastest decision available to him.
"Sir," Captain Mitchell said to Desmond, his tone hardening, "I'm going to have to ask you to collect your belongings and move. We have an open seat in business class, row 12. We will refund you the difference in fare. If you refuse, I will have to ask you to leave the aircraft."
The cabin fell dead silent.
Desmond stared at the captain. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of the demand hung in the pressurized air of the cabin. He, the rightful ticket holder, was being demoted or expelled solely to pacify a fragile ego.
"Let me be absolutely clear, Captain Mitchell," Desmond said, his voice carrying clearly through the silent first-class cabin. "I purchased this seat. I did not threaten this man. You are making a decision based on his perceived status and your purser's cowardice. If you ask me to leave this aircraft, I will comply. But I promise you, if I walk off this plane, it will not fly tonight. In fact, nothing in your fleet will."
Preston Montgomery burst into loud, theatrical laughter.
"Oh, this is rich. Do you hear this guy? He thinks he's the CEO. Buddy, unless you own the airline, I suggest you grab your little backpack and take the walk of shame back to coach, where you belong."
Captain Mitchell bristled, his authority challenged.
"Sir, I do not take kindly to threats against my aircraft or my airline. You are now officially creating a disturbance. You are no longer welcome on this flight. Richard, call Port Authority Police. Have him escorted off."
"That won't be necessary," Desmond said smoothly.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't argue. He simply reached up, clicked open the overhead bin, and retrieved his leather briefcase.
"Wait!" Khloe, the young flight attendant, stepped forward, her eyes wide with injustice. "Captain, he really didn't do anything."
"Stand down, Khloe," Richard snapped.
Desmond stepped into the aisle.
He looked at Preston Montgomery, who was already sliding into the space Desmond had just vacated, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face.